


mary sue with an empty soul

by somniorum



Series: lovesick for you [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dandere!Yuuri, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possessive Behavior, Tsundere!Yurio, Viktor and Yuuri "why won't he notice me" Katsuki-Nikiforov, WARNING: PEOPLE DIE, Yandere!viktor, gimme long-haired!Viktor or death, hecka rich!Viktor, i described the death in detail, i guess, i should be writing my doctor who au but NOPE, i swear im not a weeb, i wrote an anime trope fic even though ive only watched like five anime, oblivious yuuri - Freeform, sooo many anime cliches are supposed to be put in here, the product of watching too many yandere sim vids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somniorum/pseuds/somniorum
Summary: alternative title: in russia, senpai wants to be noticed by youIn which perfect™ Viktor can't seem to get noticed by his crush, the gorgeous sophomore Yuuri Katsuki (who doesn't even give him the time of day), or even get him to look at him. Desperate times call for desperate measures, leading him to get Yuuri to notice him in more drastic ways.Little did he know, Yuuri Katsuki never takes his eyes off of Viktor from the window seat at the back of the class.





	mary sue with an empty soul

**i:minami kenjirou; disappearance with remains found in school incinerator**

[In ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxwPJLNR0rA)Viktor’s life, he knew one thing was truer than the color of his hair or his popularity at school. It was that Yuuri Katsuki made him feel like the world would melt away to only become pink, fluffy clouds. His father told it to him before.

 

_Love._

 

That's what it had to be, right?

 

The fact that Viktor felt anything at all made him wonder what all the other emotions should feel like. If love made him feel like he was floating on fluffy pink clouds, then would sadness feel like the world was blue and weighing him down? Would anger feel like the world was red hot and burning?

 

The answer was yes.

  


Kenjirou Minami, one of the juniors, had been _much_ too close to Yuuri lately.

 

He’d been leaning in Yuuri's personal space too much, as if he were to kiss him in some moments. But sweet, sweet Yuuri was polite in not letting Minami advance. Viktor silently watched them walk to the fountain on school campus. It should have been _Viktor_ and Yuuri.

 

Every action Minami took towards getting closer to Yuuri had fueled the fire of Viktor's anger. It was something that filled the void where his emotions would be, but that anger igniting in Viktor wasn't what Viktor wanted. If _anyone_ took Yuuri away, he would be sent back into the abyss where he would feel the same emptiness he’d felt all his life. If you tasted fruit of Eden’s Garden, would you want to go back to the same blandness of mortal meals?

 

The answer would always be no.

 

 _“_ So, Yuuri. I was wondering if you and I could go out this afternoon?”

 

 _“_ I’m sorry Minami-kun, but I have to go now. My sister’s calling me home to help with the inn. See ya later.”

 

“O-okay, Katsuki-sama.”

 

“Why sama for the honorific?” Yuuri asked while walking away. “I know that we’re in the Japanese group of the exchange program, but I’m not that important.”

  


Viktor tied his hair up with a blue ribbon as tight as he could. He couldn't risk getting blood on his beautiful hair. Yuuri could never love someone who had ugly hair. Yuuri deserved only the finest of champagne and to be draped in the best of silks that were sewn by some big designer name Viktor’s mother dressed in.

 

Viktor brandished his knife from his uniform’s blazer. It was truly not a very expensive blazer; it was only three hundred dollars for materials and commissioning the seamstress. It was very convenient with multiple pockets and sheaths to keep weapons and poisons. At first, Viktor hadn't known why his father wanted him to have it. He’d even asked why was it for weapons to murder if mother said killing was bad. Young Vitya was naive at the time and hadn't realized that killing was worth it if it was for love.

 

Viktor abandoned his duty of making sure Yuuri was okay walking home alone. It wasn't like Yuuri was ever usually alone; not when Viktor stayed in the shadows. Viktor abandoning Yuuri was rare, but in this case he would have to come before Yuuri.

 

Because this case was a way to stay close to Yuuri.

 

Viktor stayed on his tiptoes behind his bright-haired rival. Minami was right next to the incinerator. Perfect.

 

Viktor knew that he couldn't synthesize— or was it sympathize? Empathize?— very well, but he might as well start trying because it must be very hard for Yuuri to try to love a psychopath. That’s what his mother called him and what his father at least. He wouldn't just push Minami into the incinerator because that must be painful to have anger manifest and physically burn.

 

He should slit his throat first to prevent him from feeling the pain from the heat of the incinerator. Viktor even brought one of the chef’s knives with him.

 

Viktor “the official Jock™ of Academy Academy” Nikiforov knew how to use his strength wisely when he overpowers Minami by sneaking up on him. He covered his mouth first to prevent him from screaming, and Minami’s gangly limbs were nowhere near releasing himself from Viktor’s arms that had been sculpted after years of athleticism. Then he brought out the knife, the light glinting off of it menacingly, and sliced his victim’s neck side to side.

 

Then Viktor realized he should've payed more attention in biology class when all the blood bleeds onto his father’s hand-me-down blazer. What’s worse is that his blazer is white. Viktor doesn't worry much about it; his mother and father knew how to get blood stains out (his father's reason was not so innocent as his mother’s).

 

He pushed the body in the incinerator and turned it on. When he makes it home, no one questions the blood stains on him. The only reaction he gets is from his parents; the fear seeps into his mother’s eyes as she took in Viktor’s bloodstained appearance while his father had pride ooze from his not visible pores. The maids’ expressions made it seem like it was just a normal day.

 

Words from his father go unspoken. It’s an implied “Well done, son.”

 

**ii: childhood with an empty soul**

 

When Viktor was very young, the earliest memories in his head was of his crying mother near him in a white room. People after people in lab coats and with medical degrees examining him for _something_. It’s not like they could find anything in the abyss that was where his empathy should be.

 

But Viktor knew he wasn’t a robot. He responded to stimuli, he knew he probably would have the ability to reproduce, he was made of cells, he knew he started as a small newborn and was already more than three feet tall, and he could learn to adapt. Those things were all characteristics of life, right? Viktor wasn’t a robot that needed to be fixed—   _right, Mama?_

 

Viktor found, from listening in on the doctors’ conversations with his parents, that something was wrong with him. He was broken in a way you couldn’t fix like a minor bug in a robot’s programming. He remembered his mother telling her son why she was different from other people with tears pooling in her eyes and silvery hair disheveled.

 

He was told that he was different from other people. He heard the doctors admitting to his parents that they couldn’t fix him. He heard the doctors saying he would never be normal. But normal is relative to people and this was something that happened to every Nikiforov firstborn.

 

But then when he was older, he began to realize why he would never be like the other children.

 

He would watch with curiosity when droplets of water would fall from their eyes. He would watch them bare their teeth with a curved mouth after something deemed good had been experienced. He would watch eyebrows furrow, like his toddler cousin, and some would grow a pink coloration in their cheeks after a teacher caught some students passing heart shaped notes and read them out loud.

 

Sad; happy; angry. All things that _they_ would experience, but Viktor came up with nothing. There wasn’t much to begin with in the first place. He grew to realize that he was… empty. Father had begun to explain to him that he was an incomplete heart with a missing half. He was one of his mama’s matryoshkas without all the little ones inside the big dolls; hollow.

 

His mama desperately wanted to help him; she wanted him to be a normal little boy that smiled like her.

 

But Father was nothing like her.

 

 _It is very simple,_ Viktor’s father had said to him. _I was exactly like you before your Mama._

 

 _Really?_ Maybe Viktor wasn’t completely hopeless after all; he even felt a fluttering feeling that was barely there. It was just like a small light in a dark tunnel. Maybe it was hope?

 

_One day, Vityen’ka, you’ll meet someone wonderful. You’ll meet someone who’ll make you feel complete._

 

Then Viktor’s mother snatched him up in her arms, away from his father’s words. Viktor had never seen his mother act like one of those schoolchildren on the playground before. It was like his baby cousin’s behavior was one of the emotions Viktor was missing and it was manifesting in his mother, lashing out at his father.

 

 _Don’t groom him to be like you!_ his mother had screamed, holding Viktor to her chest. He could feel the vibrations from her angry voice and it was most likely the closest thing he’d gotten to such a strong emotion at that period in his life.

 

Then Mama was crying.  Viktor put pieces together after all the examinations from the doctors and emotions he could never have coming from Mama.

 

Mama— the sweetest person in the world, even with the hereditary emptiness of a Nikiforov firstborn— wanted a normal child. She deserved it too after all the things Viktor’s father had put her through.

 

Mama had tried everything to make him feel— at the very least— happy. She bought him corduroy bears, velvet rabbits, and the newest technology that came out to make him _try_ to feel happy. Nothing worked.

 

But when Viktor’s mother kept trying and _trying,_ Viktor did began to feel something.

 

Pity. He felt pity for the sad woman who kept turning to vodka and diamonds to escape the hell she was in.

 

So Viktor started to act in movies; people always did say that he was beautiful and handsome. Acting lessons helped him act— for his mother— to be like other children. Just like his angry baby cousin and the sweet, blushing boy that started to make his heart flutter.

 

After one acting lesson, he came home to his mother with a smile like hers; it was one that looked like it could steal everyone’s hearts— not that he wanted or needed them. Viktor had learnt that tears could come from many emotions, and the ones coming from his mother were ones of happiness.

 

And Viktor’s mother was happy, and their family was as normal a rich family like theirs could get.

 

But… maybe she knew deep down that he was faking.

 

At school, Viktor knew that this was what people called “bullying” in the dramas he watched. He knew that he was strange to them the same way he could never be normal, but it wasn’t like there were any feelings to be hurt.

 

He remembered girls and boys pulling his long hair and throwing his homework into toilets, not knowing or caring about the Nikiforov name. He remembered jeering and laughing and his books being thrown on the floor. The only people defending him were some teachers living on paychecks signed by a Nikiforov and another child that was made fun of. The boy was cute in a way that made Viktor’s heart flutter when he touched him to help him up.

 

The bullying was inconvenient. But perhaps if  he wanted to be treated properly, he would have to act like other children. He learned that if he would act like a normal child, he would be treated like a normal child. If he kept the charade up, people would start to like him. If he pretended to have hobbies, people would start to bond over those hobbies with him. In some hobbies, he got into dumb discourse like “this character shouldn’t be with this character” or “this character is total trash” or “nuh-uh”.

 

He pretended to be the bigger person in every argument that struck and people liked him for it. He pretended to care when tragedy struck.

 

At some moments, Viktor looked back at how well he knew how to act. In interviews, people asked about his technique and how he got so good. He would reply with a wink “It’s a secret” while in reality— instead of on camera— there was nothing for him to draw on for inspiration. Where he should of gotten a well of inspiration, there was only a gaping hole.

 

As he grew older, he became more popular with his charms. As he got older, he resented his “condition”. What was sorrow like? What was rage like? What was joy like? What of disgust and fear?

 

There was nothing he could do to make him feel.

 

He wanted _anything_ to make him feel something. He didn’t mind if it was guilt or shame, maybe even regret. Another emotion had started to blossom faintly, though it was a bland emotion. It was desperation, if you could consider it an emotion.

 

He wanted to feel _anything._

 

The sharp blade of the knife had quickly killed Makkachin’s pup. No matter how hard he tried, the blood never seemed to fully be cleaned off Viktor’s hands— though the carmine color was already gone. No matter how extreme the lengths he went to feel a true feeling, he didn’t feel anything. There was nothing.

 

Father’s advice was always the same. _One day, you will meet a wonderful person to take the void away. One day, someone will make you complete._

 

Those words kept Viktor going on with his red carpet and gold awarded life. Those words stayed in his head and became his reason to live. There would be a person to do wonderful things with his heart.

 

They would save him.

 

They would fix him.

 

Complete him.

 

One day, Viktor had found a way to make time away from his social clique. Acting all the time was a drain.

 

The sweet boy with round cheeks in the off-season of whatever sport he took part in had bumped into him.

 

A fluttering feeling rushed throughout Viktor as he looked at him. He recognized that he was the same boy who was the resident wallflower in class 1-A; he shared a class with Viktor. The cute boy wore blue rimmed glasses and the pants of his academy uniform was tight around his thighs. There were a lot of things to leave to the imagination which Viktor might daydream of.

 

“A-are you okay, Nikiforov-sen— “

 

“You should call me Viktor, I insist,” Viktor flashed him a smile like he did for the cameras. He’s seen the Viktor Nikiforov posters everyone seems to have so Yuuri must be expecting a suave celebrity. Viktor took Yuuri’s hand after trailing his hand over Yuuri’s forearm. “What’s your name, beautiful? Are you a fan of mine looking for a selfie together?”

 

Then Yuuri’s face fell, like after his mother had gotten her hopes up after tasting the possibility of Viktor feeling real emotions, and he began to walk away.

 

It was like watching an angel turn its back on you once it realized you weren’t worthy of heaven.

 

Why did he walk away? Did he not want Viktor to protect him? The next time Viktor saw Yuuri, he would not lose him. He would make him his.

 

He mustn’t let anyone take him.

 

He was worth any sacrifice.

 

He doesn’t have a choice.

 

**iii: can’t help falling in love with you**

Viktor remembers the day he knew for sure he was in love with Yuuri. The pink clouds that made his heart beat fast and knees weak at first came with Yuuri getting drunk on spiked punch at a school dance. He was with his annoying friend that kept asking repetitive questions in class. Peaches? Peter? All that mattered to Viktor about him was that he was just Yuuri’s best friend. Research was not needed when all that mattered was keeping his Yuuri and destroying any rivals that got in his way.

 

Viktor had watched from a distance as Yuuri chugged glass after glass of vodka-filled punch; Yuuri was all alone, so _someone_ had to make sure Yuuri wouldn’t choke on his vomit. Yuuri’s friend— his name was Phichit, right?— had abandoned him to fawn over some Korean student in the international gifted students program. That wouldn’t do; his Yuuri deserved someone— _only one_ person— to stay by his side and never part from him.

 

Everything had gone to shit when he started to challenge people to dance battles and started to take off parts of his clothes. Viktor’s freshman cousin— who he had also dubbed as another rival in his way with how close he was to his Yuuri— began to fail winning. There was no winning in a dance-off with Yuuri Katsuki. Mother kept saying that he should be nicer to Yuri instead of alienating him— he didn’t deserve the same name as Viktor’s Yuuri; that was for sure— because he needed a friend after moving back into the neighborhood.

 

There was no winning against a Katsuki in something like a dance battle; they were all born to win without a question and it was literally in their name. Yuuri Katsuki mopped the floor (Viktor knew what mopping the floor was because he lost count of when  had to mop the blood of people who was in his way) with Yuri Plisetsky on the dance floor. A bunch of nameless twirls and steps all blended together to mesmerize the screaming audience. Yuri Plisetsky’s face flushed red and stumbled over a few parts in his part of the dance battle. They say that looking through rose colored glasses makes all the red flags look normal, but the pink clouds in Viktor’s vision coming from Yuuri did nothing to obstruct the red flags that took the form of Yuri Plisetsky’s face.

 

Viktor knew that face; he saw that expression on his own when he looked into a mirror (because a socialite like a Nikiforov must always look his best) when he daydreamed of Yuuri giving him the littlest of smiles (Yuuri’s smiles could totally  power all of the school with all the charging phones and whatnot).

 

His cousin was in love with Yuuri. He started to feel a growing sense of pity for the poor, poor kid (even if the Nikiforov legacy would never be out of hundred-dollar bills to spare).

 

Viktor would have to do something about that before he made sure Yuuri was his and his alone. A minor hiccup, yes; Viktor would have to do something about his little cousin to keep him from his precious Yuuri. He’d have to find something to call him to differentiate the two Yu(u)ris in his life, though one was significantly more important in his life than the other, so why would he ever willingly spend time with the other?

 

Then more shit on the dance floor happened: Mr. Giacometti and Yuuri started to pole dance ( _where did that pole come from???!!!!)._ Yuuri started to throw his clothes to the audience ( _where the fuck are the chaperones???!!!)_ and began spinning.

 

Mr. Giacometti’s expression turned predatory, though not like how his father’s eyes would turn into whenever anyone got too close to his mother. Though, his father’s eyes were more like it was telling someone to run before they were fed to hungry bears alive rather than the only supervisor at the school dance having bedroom eyes for a boy ten years his junior.

 

That was another hiccup in Viktor’s path to a happily ever after. Some pervy teacher after his Yuuri.

 

Eventually Viktor went after Yuuri’s discarded clothing and wrestled them on him. Touching Yuuri’s soft skin made his heart beat fast enough to hear from a mile away and made the pink clouds filling his mind and heart rosier.  When Yuuri was in Viktor’s arms— it was  a blessed moment Viktor would treasure in his heart and mind forever— Yuuri _actually_ looked up at him and smiled.

 

It was a real smile too, unlike all the ones Viktor held for the camera. Yuuri’s nose was all scrunched up like a piglet’s snout and his blue glasses were long forgotten. Yuuri’s face was leaning far into Viktor’s personal space, but it wasn’t like Viktor would care (much less not want it). The closeness was warm and the pink clouds gave Viktor butterflies in his stomach and a bubbly feeling throughout his existence.

 

The gaping hole in Viktor’s existence was filled with the essence of Yuuri. It wouldn’t really be _Katsuki_ much longer in their lifetimes. The age of marriage could be sixteen in some countries right? So only one year for Viktor and Yuuri to wait. The feeling of the void in Viktor that made him feel so empty in his entire lifetime being filled was not quite foreign; he had met Yuuri only once before when Yuuri had tripped over his own feet into Viktor’s arms. The school dance had made their meeting come full circle.

 

Viktor’s heart fluttered when their eyes met; eyes made of the arctic ocean meeting gentle brown ones filled with the emotion a cold body of water could never hold. People always compare blue eyes to an ocean like it’s a beautiful thing, but the ocean is so vast and empty on the surface and filled with life under that it makes Viktor laugh at the irony. There were only signs of life on the surface of Viktor and very little capacity below.

 

Yuuri had somehow let the joy in his smile bleed into his words. Yuuri had babbled in his mother tongue with the only word Viktor could recognize by ear was “onsen” because of his rather extensive “background research” on Yuuri.

 

“Viktor, if I win this dance-off between you and me, will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Viktor stayed silent. Was it just him or the pink clouds manifesting on his face?

 

“Be my boyfriend, Viktor!”

  


Viktor is the type of person to be very bitter about losing; Nikiforovs never lose. But just this once, Viktor does not mind losing.

  


Viktor is also the type of person not to get caught doing something considered bad. People always said he was a model model in the industry or the poster boy for good students. He was impossibly wealthy, had extensive athletic training, has excelled in everything he had attempting in life, was the most popular and most handsome boy in the school (next to his Yuuri), had leadership qualities drilled in him since birth, and was the ASB president of the school.

 

Viktor got caught by the one and only Phichit Chulanont.

 

“I saw you stalking my friend,”

 

“Do you have a problem with that?” Viktor began to reach for his knife in the pocket of his blazer.

 

Phichit chuckled. “Not really. But I think I would be willing to give you information. How well do you know your cousin, Mr. Nikiforov?”

 

“Yuri Plisetsky?”

 

“I know that he believes in the myth about the cherry tree behind the school.”

 

“Never pegged him for the type.”

 

“He also plans to confess to my friend next Friday,” Phichit kept his face neutral to match Viktor’s emotionless one.

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

“I would be very happy if something bad happened to Plisetsky. He’s… not a very nice person,” Phichit began. “I don’t approve of the likes of him having a crush on my friend.”

 

Viktor stayed silent and gestured him to go on with his proposal like they were in a conference room.

 

“Yuuri is a very sweet boy, and Plisetsky would not be kind if he ever got his hands on his glass heart. You, however, I approve of. You’ll keep Yuuri in comfort for all his days, you’re very handsome, and— if all those girls and boys in school are right— you’ll keep him _very_ satisfied.”

 

“Why are you concerned about your friends’ sex life?”

 

“Everyone in school knows of your crush on Yuuri _except_ for Yuuri. I think you’d be very happy to know that Yuuri has feelings for you as well,” Phichit started getting closer to Viktor.

 

“R-really?” Viktor’s heart fluttered.

 

Then Phichit put on a dangerously smug smile and went up to Viktor’s ear and whispered “But this is only high school with fleeting feelings, is it not? Be careful if you wish to keep Yuuri’s feelings.”

 

He walked away with a satisfied smile when he looked over his shoulder and saw Viktor’s angered face.

 

“And don’t even think about killing me, honey! Yuuri would be very sad about my death.” Then he handed Viktor a piece of paper with a series of numbers and hyphens on it.

 

 **Unknown:**  Hello there naughty child, you are to call me Phi-clue as one of my clients

 

 **You:** how did u get my number?

 

 **Phi-clue:** I have my ways

 

 **Phi-clue:**  You’ve heard of me at school, so you should know how I operate

 

 **You:** i’ve heard that you blackmail people and sell pictures to pervs

 

 **You:** you’re disgusting

 

 **Phi-clue:** and you’re a stalker

 

 **Phi-clue:** if u want my help for a favor or if you want to eliminate anyone else to start some drama for the school newspaper, text me a picture of someone in underwear without their face to pay for it; text me a picture of someone’s face if you want to know everything I know about them. u can also give me cash for yuuri content and favors.

 

 **Phi-clue:** if u don’t want my help, ignore me. Text me if you want my help.

 

 **Phi-clue:** You have until friday when your precious yuuri belongs to his namesake

 

 **Phi-clue:**  if you side with me, i’ll make sure your precious yuuri ends up with u

 

 **Phi-clue:** mark my words

  


**iv: baby in blue**

 

Yuuri Katsuki was born on November ninth, and that is when seven-year-old Mari Katsuki started to feel for the first time. Kaasan had said she was very similar when she was growing up before she met Otousan. Mari didn’t ask any questions.

 

There was something about that adorable bundle of joy that brought Mari happiness whenever he babbled and squirmed in his blankets with a chubby-cheeked smile. There was something about that adorable thing that used to fit in a bundle that annoyed her when he kept the household up with his crying at night. If crying was for people who were sad, then why was her little brother so sad so often.

 

When Yuuri started to go to school, Mari could start to understand sadness and why her brother cried so often. Without Yuuri, her days seemed so empty without a baby brother to take care of.

 

Then, she saw children making fun of him; she heard how they teased his weight, how ballet was for girls, and little Yuuri was eating an ice cream cone at the time and smacked it out of his hands and kicked dirt into his face when he tried to pick it up. The dirt stuck to his face from his tears.

 

 _Is this what anger felt like?_ The dramas on television seemed like it exaggerated it so much externally for something so little on the inside, but it was the reverse for Mari.

  


That night, Mari came home with blood on her skirt. Those boys were never found again.

 

The thing about her baby brother was that— to contrast Mari— he was born with too much emotion. Her baby brother would often wake her up at night crying because of how he was worried about a bad score on a grade or if he heard that Viktor Nikiforov was dating some pretty girl or boy, but that rarely happened. But Yuuri would cry about serious problems that don’t even exist, and Mari would always be there to cradle him in her arms and wipe away his tears.

 

Then Yuuri was shipped off to some school in America.

 

Things were different now. The halls in the inn were so much emptier. Mari’s heart was so much emptier.

 

**v: please notice me one day**

 

Yuuri stared longingly at the Popular™ table of the cafeteria. The apple of his eye and beat of his heart was leagues better than him in ways an ordinary, bland Yuuri with a double major— he wasn’t even in college yet— couldn’t comprehend.

 

Viktor Nikiforov was the moon in the water; something you could never touch and only admire from afar. He made Yuuri’s heart flutter faster than a hummingbird’s wings with a wink and his knees weak with a smile. They had to of been made for each other whenever they met eyes. Viktor’s eyes were so blue and icy, like an arctic ocean you could only see on the surface. There was still so much underneath that you couldn’t see.

 

Some days, Yuuri couldn’t believe that _the_ Viktor Nikiforov actually knew his name. He didn’t even know Viktor knew he existed.  He even let Yuuri touch his Letterman jacket once.

 

(It wasn't really that he allowed him to touch it. He once let him wear it when it was raining and Yuuri forgot an umbrella. Yuuri still has it and never had the courage to return it)

 

Viktor Nikiforov was flawless. His hair was insured for a hundred thousand dollars (Plisetsky, the blonde kid that had been picking on Yuuri the moment he stepped in the school, had said once that he would need that insurance because of how he was prematurely balding. (Yuuri had almost clawed his eyes out to defend the majesty of Viktor Nikiforov hair)). People said that he once did a commercial in Japan. His favorite movie was technically an opera (it was called Aria for Two and his favorite song in it was Stammi Vicino). He once met a model— of course he did, he was one too and more— and she told him he was pretty. He once touched Yuuri; it was amazing.

 

There were not-so-strict rules separating all the cliques. Yuuri wasn’t quite the person that only fit in one, and his best friend was known for being popular on the internet. The most popular in the school wasn’t dating the most popular guy; Mila and Viktor were distant cousins and Mila was dating one of the band kids. Bandcest wasn’t a thing at Academy and Viktor wasn’t quite a “dumb jock”. Except when it came to calculus, ‘cause damn he was clueless.

 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Viktor smiled at Yuuri. Yuuri would probably need sunglasses to prevent himself from being blinded from the quality of his teeth. “I’m having a party on my father’s yacht. Wanna come?”

 

“Uh-um—”

 

“Of course he will!” Yuuri jumped at Phichit suddenly appearing behind him and proclaiming that _yes, Yuuri will go breath the same air as the crush he’s had since puberty happened._ “I’m going too!”

 

Yuuri watched Viktor visibly tense, but only for a split second. “Sure, I believe there’s enough caviar h'orderves for everyone,” he added a wink.

 

Yuuri shifted uncomfortably in his uniform’s jacket and adjusted his backpack’s strap. He was nowhere near as rich as any of the students going to Academy without a scholarship. Yuuri was just the second son of some inn keepers that got lucky expanding and everyone else was the heir to some megacorp worth a bajillion dollars.

 

He walked away to his next class. That seat near the window felt really appealing; there was a view to stare at as he contemplated all the ways that could have gone better.

  


Little did the oblivious heartbreaker know, Viktor Nikiforov doodled hearts around the names “Viktor Katsuki”, “Yuuri Nikiforov”, and “Viktor and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov” written in Cyrillic.

 

“Hey there, Nikiforov,” Viktor slammed his diary shut at the sound of Phichit’s smug voice.

 

“Chulanont.”

 

“Would you like a daily dose of Yuuri Katsuki?” Phichit made himself comfortable on Viktor’s desk.  “Dunno why I always ask when I _know_ how desperate you are.”

 

“Where is what I pay for, Chulanont?”

 

“Whatever. Honestly, I don’t see why you don’t just confess. If I have to hear more ‘ Oh, I bet Viktor’s favorite color is red because of how much he uses it and how much it stains his paint apron,’” he mimicked. “It’s a little cute, but seeing mutual pining kinda sucks. It’s a little annoying when all you can do is internally scream that ‘he’s in love with you too!’”

 

“It’s more complicated than that, Chulanont.”

 

“What can there be that’s _possibly_ going to make a love confession complicated. Yuuri’s parent’s inn business is doing pretty well, so there’s not much of a power gap there?”

 

“I must get rid of anyone who will draw Yuuri’s attention away from me.”

 

Phichit tensed. _Good,_ Viktor thought. “Dude, that’s not really… sane? Healthy? See a doctor maybe?”

 

“I’ve been to a doctor for my condition. They can’t help me.”

 

**:.:.:.:.:**

 

Yuuri stretched his legs out on the bar. Why would someone so amazing as Viktor Nikiforov  notice him and let him join him on same yacht his Popular™ Circle would join too. The best cheerleader on the team— who surprisingly wasn’t the head cheerleader; the head cheerleader was Yuuri— would be there, the most emo ballad composer would be there, and the most angsty and mean freshman would be there. Why did that freshman have to keep picking on Yuuri?

 

It was always _hey pig, how’s your knee?_ _Hey pig, don’t eat that, it’s not good for your piggy body._ _Ugh, you have a crush on Viktor? So does everyone else in the school, go find someone else to crush on._ What did Yuuri ever do to him?

 

“Hey, pig!” _speak of the actual devil._ “Are you going to Viktor’s yacht party?”

 

Yuuri contemplated his answer to Plisetsky— scowling and intimidating in his Letterman jacket. It had to be something that wouldn’t make him laugh at him in pity because of his ridiculous and painful crush.

 

“Are _you_ going?” Yuuri kept eye contact while stretching.

 

“Yeah? So? Answer my question!” Plisetsky-san yelled.

 

“I… I’m thinking of going. I’m not good at parties.”

 

“Viktor’s poodle is going to be there at the party,” Plisetsky said as he started to leave.

 

That started to make him consider. Viktor _did_ invite him, didn’t he? He could just bring Phichit— who was always great with people, so of course he’d bring him— to bring the semblance that he really didn’t want to make contact with another human. _Psych bitch! If you wanna know where I am, you can meet find me with the dog._ He didn’t even want to be with the dog, he just wants to fangirl over Viktor and Makkachin. There was that new poster that he got his hands on that was limited edition—

 

Wait, he still had yet to answer Plisetsky.

 

“Uh, I guess I will. Sounds nice,”

 

“You better be there, piggy.”

 

He would.

**Author's Note:**

> In-this-universe trivia:
> 
> 1\. the lovesickness is passed down to the firstborn child of certain families  
> 2\. this entire thing was inspired by watching waaaaay too many let's plays of yansim  
> 3.viktor is meant to be a hybrid of yanchan and megami saikou; with his deep-af pockets and lovesickness


End file.
